Disgust Scenario Two
by spoons are for marmalade skies
Summary: During the war, Harry pushed Ron to breaking point. Now Ron has seperated himself from the group with only Ginny tying the Golden Trio together but Ginny herself is having a few loyalty issues, faced as she is with the delectable Draco Malfoy…


_Disclaimer: I completely swiped the theme of this piece from Purrr (who knows and doesn't mind) and so I hand her full kudos – the baton is yours! Strike up the march and beat the drum and all that. The lines about bluffing were from, ah! Normality, which will always have a special place in my heart. The cigarette in the raincoat is Paul Simon (ahh) and Harry and the Gang are from J.K., to whom we must pay homage in the form of cheap rip-offs._

--

Ginny trudged up the stairs, a pot of over-cooked linguini in one hand, parchment and quill in the other. She could hear her friends above her. It made her feel like turning around and going straight back down.

She poked her head into the room at the top. Ron and Hermione were stretched out on the bed inside, Hermione sobbing into Ron's shirt. He was staring up at Harry, with whom he seemed to be having some sort of battle of wills.

"Soup's up, guys," Ginny called cheerfully, not knowing what else to do. Ron's head snapped around, but Hermione didn't budge. He met Harry's eyes again, and Harry said,

"We'll be out in a minute."

Ginny wandered into the living room and sat down. She didn't know what was going on, and thought she probably didn't want to.

Eventually Harry came out with Ron.

"Sorry about the wait, Gin," he said, rubbing his face with his hand.

"What's wrong with Hermione?"

"We found a friend of hers dead today. She took it pretty hard."

Something about the way he said this made Ginny ask, "What were you two fighting about?"

"We weren't fighting –"

"She wants to pull out," Ron said flatly. "She's sick of the war and I don't blame her."

"Quitting isn't going to make it go away!" Harry said, flaring up at once. "We have to kill Voldemort, that's when we'll be alright."

"She's not alright now," Ron said, setting his jaw stubbornly. Ginny knew that look and stood up at once.

"I'm just going to run to the store," she said. Neither of them took any notice as she slipped out.

It was raining outside. She hadn't stopped for a jacket, so she was soaked through at once, but she didn't want to go back. Ducking inside the nearest shop, she wound her way between tables, looking around. The building had been taken over by the Ministry, under cover as a bakery, when no one was willing to fill another vacancy.

Ginny didn't recognize the girl behind the counter, but she apparently knew Ginny. Seeing the energetic wave, Ginny made her way over.

"Ginny Potter, right?"

Ginny shrunk into her sweater, willing the girl to lower her voice. "Yes. Can I get a cranberry muffin, please?"

"Absolutely! On the house!" At Ginny's protest, she cried, "Just keep saving the world and that's payment enough for us!"

"Thank you so much," Ginny said, grabbing the muffin and turning to bolt. The nearest tables were looking around already, and she was not in the mood for a mob of Harry's fans. She shoved her way to the door, charged outside and bounced off a familiar chest. "Zabini!"

He glared down at her. "Watch where you're going, Weasel."

Ginny glared back until he strode past, and then she thought about what he had said. 'Watch where you're going, Weasel', if she recalled correctly, was code for 'I'll be over for six o'clock dinner with news about the Lestranges'. That was good. She charged on.

"Watch where you're going, Weasel!" a voice barked from over her as she staggered.

"Where I'm going! If you wouldn't take up the entire sidewalk that would be just fine!" She looked up and froze. Malfoy was staring back.

"Why you filthy little blood traitor," he hissed. "You think I'm going to step aside for you? You're lucky to be allowed out of your kennel."

"I wouldn't call it luck," she said, "so much as my husband's superior fighting skills. I note that your Dark Lord is still being beaten out by a bunch of kids."

"I note that your precious Potter became your husband awfully quick. Oh, and it looks like you're starting to show." Malfoy flicked his gaze down her body.

"You'll have to do better than that," she taunted. "Come on, Malfoy, what happened to the evil-henchman style?"

Malfoy blinked twice, rapidly, and then looked to where she had run into Blaise. "You know Blaise pretty well, don't you," he said slowly.

Her heart stopped.

"I wonder what he was doing out here? He's supposed to be working today… funny thing, that. You live across from here. Can I walk you home?" He offered his arm, suddenly pleasant.

"No. And you must be smoking your Boomslang to think I'd associate with that pillock. Next time you see him tell him to keep his pretty-boy eyes open or I'll mar his face for good."

She crossed the street and walked into her building. Malfoy was standing at the desk. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him into an alcove and cast a Silencing Charm around it. "Are you following me?"

"I thought that of your Order friends, you'd be the least likely to hex me."

"You thought wrong." She jabbed her wand into his chest. "What do you want?"

He held up his hands, palms open. "Don't kill me until I tell you everything."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not making any promises."

"I don't want to be a Death Eater any more." Ginny snickered, and he frowned. "I'm serious."

"It's not that," she said, chuckling. "I'm sure you've figured out who's going to win and all that, but do you think Voldemort's going to just let you sign out like that?"

"No," he said, "I want to spy."

"We don't trust you."

"I'll go through any kind of questioning. I'm prepared to do anything for your side."

"Die for it?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." She tilted her head. "To be honest, I still don't trust you. Whatever your intent, your motives can't be good."

He was tapping the wall behind him, apparently thinking. "You trust Blaise, right?"

"Sure."

"Yes?"

"Yes." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Why? He trusts you?"

"Well, yeah."

"And that's your big ace. Sorry, buster, I'm going to have to take you upstairs."

He Apparated. She swore, stepped out of the alcove, and screamed.

"Weasley, lower your wand. I've got a very good friend standing behind you and he doesn't mind killing little girls."

"You're bluffing," she said, glancing over her shoulder.

"Maybe, but can you afford to be sure?"

She bit her lip, looking for a way out. Finally she lowered her wand. "Okay."

"Throw it over here."

"I have security following me everywhere, Malfoy, give it up! You can't march me out of here."

"I don't have to. Throw the wand over here and back against the wall."

She snarled, but obeyed.

"Now slide along the wall to your left. Don't try anything, my wand's up my sleeve."

"I can see that, thanks," she snapped. He gave her a wide berth as he went to open a door.

"In here."

She hesitated, but a spell came out of his sleeve and she threw herself in to avoid it. "What the hell was that?"

"Imperius; I can't have you making a fuss. Take a seat."

She lowered herself into the chair provided.

The room she was in was stark white, empty but for the chair, and had no escape routes. She cursed herself for letting her guard down, but kept her face blank. "What do you want?"

"I told you that already. I've called on Potter and he's going to listen too."

They were silent until Harry got there, seconds later. He looked fit to kill but listened, seeing as Malfoy had his wand to Ginny's throat. It wasn't the best way to convince them he was on their side, but it was the fastest one he could think of.

After Harry and a team of Aurors had stripped his mind down they found him to be suitable. With Malfoy's assistance they won the war the next year.

--

Everyone was a little lost at first.

They had been at war for as long as many of them could remember – it had seemed to drag at the time, though they knew it was a brief stage in their lives. Afterwards, Hermione was the only friend Ginny had left, which really wasn't much of an advantage as they didn't get on well. Bill was dead, and Charlie, and their parents, and Percy. From the first the war had had staggering losses; one of the opening attacks had been on Hogwarts, from which only three of Harry and Ginny's years combined survived. England was a bloodbath before it was over.

Nevertheless, they rebuilt, and moved on. Fred and George expanded their business at an enormous rate, opened worldwide branches, and were never home. Ginny supposed this was their way of avoiding the problem, and Ron, obviously feeling the same, joined the company. Hermione lived with the Potters. They were a close-knit group.

The next they heard of Ron was in the news. 'Youngest Weasley Moves From Saving The World To Saving The Rainforest' blared the headlines. Harry snatched the _Prophet_ from the kitchen table and sat down to read.

"Fred and George mentioned this," Ginny said, reading over Harry's shoulder and pointing with her spatula.

"You're dripping on Harry's sweater," Hermione said.

"Oh, sorry. But look, this is wrong – Ron's in Brazil, he's got nothing to do with this Portugese Plague of the Redheads. That actually sounds retarded, now that I think of it."

"Yeah, and they say he's a 'kindly, gregarious people person', and that he's 'confident' and 'warm'. Ha!"

"Aw, Harry," Ginny said, ruffling his hair. "He can be warm."

She went back into the kitchen before Harry could point out the frosty silence that met Harry's weekly letters to Ron.

"I've got a meeting after work today," Hermione said, to break the uncomfortable silence. "Go ahead without me. That quail smells delicious, Gin." She reached for her purse and Disapparated with a cheery wave.

Ginny turned back to her cooking. "Harry," she said at last, "I sort of think –"

"I've got to get to work, sorry. Can we talk later?" He dropped the paper, snatched his cloak and was gone in record time.

Ginny scowled as she washed her hands. They shared an office, there was no way he could avoid her all day.

--

Apparently he could.

Every time Ginny tried to approach him, he had an appointment or a deadline. When she got behind him in line at the copy machine, he asked her to finish up what he was doing as he had just remembered something he needed to remind Kingsley; as she was making her way across the cafeteria towards her usual place next to him, Draco appeared in her seat, so fast she thought he must have Summoned. Harry did not want to talk.

She didn't blame him. Ron's detachment was a constant sore spot for him, no doubt from guilt more than anything. Harry wanted his friend back, and Ron wanted nothing to do with him.

Ron had written her for a while. He was a talker by nature; he had poured out his anger, his frustration at Harry's pitiless exploitation of their friends. Ginny thought he would probably subside before long, so she encouraged it a certain amount – agreed with his more accurate points, soothed his wounded spirit, and, she thought now, generally made it worse.

Ginny thought perhaps they could all take a mini-break – the three of them could go visit Ron in Brazil, and try to patch things up face to face.

Harry refused.

--

Hermione and Ron were in love.

Ginny was sure of it. So she thought Hermione might have some insight and went to ask her after work. She approached the subject from the side, first by asking Hermione to join her for a walk, buying her coffee, chatting about Christmas presents. December was coming up, without any sign of snow – only constant, dreary rain. They shared an umbrella and laughed about ordinary things.

"Hermione," Ginny said at last, "you know how Harry doesn't want to go to Brazil?"

Hermione was nothing if not sharp. She looked sideways and nodded once.

"Well… Can you think of any other way, you know, we could…?"

"If you want me to settle them, I can't," Hermione said flatly.

"No, no," Ginny protested, and then busied herself getting a splash of mud from her sleeve to avoid the question. What did she want? "I just feel that, you know, when they see each other again –"

"The reconciliation will 'happen'?" Hermione curled her lip. "I don't think so. Ron really hates Harry."

"Oh, no, those letters were just him venting. You know what a temper he has." Ginny knew she shouldn't have shown Hermione.

"It isn't that, Gin, it's much bigger than that. He'll never forgive Harry."

Ginny stopped in her tracks. "You've been seeing him."

"Yes." Hermione brushed her hair back and met Ginny's eyes. "You won't tell Harry."

"No."

They walked on.

"Hermione," Ginny tried again, "will you talk to him?"

"Ron?"

"No, Harry. I don't – even know what Ron thinks anymore, you know? So… I can't convince Harry, but you _know_… Are you understanding me at all?"

"Yes," Hermione laughed, "surprisingly, yes, I'll give it a go." It slipped out before Hermione had thought to say it, judging by the look of surprise on her own face. Ginny threw her arms around Hermione.

"Thank you, thank you! I know Harry needs it."

"Harry has other friends," Hermione said. Ginny smiled to herself. It was like Hermione to prepare her for the disappointment. This was definitely a bad upside to look for if they failed.

"Yeah, who?"

"Oh, come on, Gin. He's your husband, you know he's got piles of friends."

"But no one he _trusts_. He _needs_ Ron."

"I know. Remember Draco, though. Not _everyone's_ out to get him."

"Draco isn't Ron," Ginny said sharply; and when Hermione looked to start again, she turned her face to the side. Hermione sighed and gave up. If Ron would never forgive Harry, Ginny would certainly never forgive Draco. Each protective of their lover, Hermione thought with a smile, and remembered how excited Ron had been about the forest the night before that article came out. He'd be even more geared by now, she was sure. He was doing so well.

--

_Draco follows her out of a meeting one rainy afternoon, not because of anything in particular but from an idea that she might not be absolutely fine. When he catches her she's smiling, and she's drenched. He takes off his coat._

"_Here," he says, dumbly, and she puts it on with a curious expression on her face. Almost like gratitude. They don't know each other yet._

_They walk in silence for a time, and then he says, "All right?" because he isn't sure what else to do. She laughs and pushes sopping hair out of her eyes._

"_Sure," she says, "you?"_

_He looks at her sideways, and catches her looking back._

"_Toss me a cigarette," he says. "I think there's one in my raincoat."_

_She rummages through the pockets and extracts a pack. "Mind if I have one?"_

"_Yes," he says. "They're unhealthy."_

_She snorts and takes one anyway. He brushes against her arm, and, when she doesn't protest, he does it again. Revelling in the little shiver it brings her._

_She might have been cold._

--

On Tuesday evenings Draco and Harry sat playing bridge. Draco made sure they always had the place to themselves; more because they were sick of everyone else than that they valued time with each other.

"Your bid," Draco said.

"Four. Listen, can you find a partner?"

"You want to do doubles? Sure, I can get a couple of people over right now." Draco reached for a sheet of parchment.

"No, not tonight." Harry put down his first card as soon as Draco passed the bid; then said casually, "I've been teaching Ginny."

"Oh, good. She'll be a winner, all right."

"Yeah, she's excellent," Harry said, ignoring Draco's tone. "She's really got the hang of it." He cleared his throat. "I thought she might like to try it against a solid pair."

"Blaise is good," Draco said. "He always plays doubles with Gazelle."

"I meant you," Harry said quietly.

"Harry," Draco said, leaning back in his chair with his eyes half-closed, "when was the last time you spoke to Ron?"

"I dunno." Harry looked a little taken aback. "But I at least _try_ to reconcile," he burst out, swiping violently at his next trick and knocking the cards from the table. Stooping to get them, he went on, "not like this stupid thing you and Ginny have. What happened, anyway?"

"If she hasn't told you I'm going to respect her silence."

"Well, come on. It's been years. Couldn't you make a stab at it? For my sake?"

Draco smiled. "It's always been you, Harry. You talk to her about it."

--

That night while Harry was brushing his teeth he shouted into the kitchen, "Ginny, if I go to Brazil I want you to talk to Draco again."

"What?" she shouted back. "I can't hear you with the water running."

He went out to the doorway. "I said, if I go to Brazil I want you to talk to Draco again."

"No, Harry." She set down her dishtowel and looked at him. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because we hate each other."

"Why?"

"Because I never trusted him and he can't let that go." She turned back to the sink.

"He's willing to try if you are."

Ginny laughed. "What, we're all going to make up and be friends? Gryffindor and Slytherin unite?"

"You don't care about that and you know it," Harry said, hot at the reminder.

"I care about you," she said, "and I think he used you horribly."

"Ginny," he said, coming up behind her and pulling her into his chest, "everyone in the wizarding world used me. I _wanted_ to be used, I wanted to end Voldemort more than anybody. And we did. And it's over. So please, please, to make the war worth something, come play bridge with us. That's all."

"I don't want to make the war worth something. That sounds like we should have another one."

"Oh, God no."

"I just don't like him," she whispered.

"I like hardly anybody," Harry whispered back, "but I talk to them because it makes them happy."

"Hmph. You're a good guy, you know that, Potter?"

"Make Draco happy," he said determinedly. "Hardly anything does."

"Well then, why bother?" She started scrubbing at a spot, pulling from his arms.

"Ginny, please."

"Fine."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Goodnight."

"Go spit your toothpaste before you sleep."

"Gee, and there I was hoping to gargle all _night_. What a disappointment."

Ginny tried to slap him on his way out but missed. She was thinking about how happy she had been when she and Draco were close, and how unlikely it was to ever happen again.

--

Harry booked his Apparition to Brazil the next day. He arrived at the station with Hermione, who didn't want to be involved but who had promised to take Harry to Ron's place. It was a flourishing little farm just south of the city, and they reached it at lunchtime.

Hermione left Harry at the door. Harry knocked.

"Hang on!" came a shout from inside; then a moment later Ron's cheerful face appeared in the window. He stopped short. Harry lifted a hand in greeting.

"Hi," he said, knowing that Ron couldn't hear through the glass. Ron, clenching and unclenching his jaw, pushed the door open.

"Hey," he said. "Have you eaten?"

Harry shook his head. Ron gestured him in and led him to the kitchen, where he sat Harry down and started throwing things together. "What are you doing here?" he asked, snapping the words out as though to get them over as quick as he could.

"I wanted to talk to you about everything."

"I got your letters," Ron said, as though that would settle it.

"Glad to hear it." Harry picked at his napkin and avoided looking at Ron. "Did you read them?" When Ron didn't say anything, he said, "What I thought. I wanted to talk about what happened."

Pause.

"Yeah, so you said."

"And I wanted to know what went wrong."

Ron stopped chopping, bracing his hands on the counter and breathing slowly. "You wanna repeat that?"

"Ron," Harry said, "you know I regret a lot of things."

Ron was slowly turning crimson.

"I regret pushing you and Hermione so hard."

"Leave her out of this."

"She's a part of it. I regret the war crimes _we_ committed, but remember that we all did them."

"On your orders," Ron grated out.

"I regret that I was in a position to give orders."

Ron started to cool down at that. He knew that Harry had never wanted his place in the war. "Yeah," he said, "yeah, that's fair."

"I regret that you felt like you had to leave," Harry said, staring at the table. He had never been good at this sort of thing; his remedy now was to say it as fast and as quietly as possible, in the hopes that no one would hear. "I regret the years we've missed out on."

"You know," Ron interrupted, having apparently thought out what he wanted to say, "I agree with you on a lot of points."

Harry looked up hopefully.

"I was always rotten to you with the hero thing and I'm sorry about that. But, to be honest, the one thing I don't regret in the least is that years and years from now, when Hermione and I are married, and you and Ginny are still on, and we've got a whole pack of cousins romping around in the dirt learning Quidditch tactics together…" He shook his hands to dry them, his back to Harry. "I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm glad we've gone through this now, and we know that you're aware of why I still won't want to see you. This way we can hurt everyone else as little as possible."

Harry slowly lowered his hand to the table, from where it had risen to his hair. He tapped his fingers a couple of times and said, "And that's it."

"That's it."

Harry stood up. Ron was braced against the counter again, his sleeves rolled up and, despite his obvious discomfort in the situation, looking well. Harry was glad to see him. He walked past Ron, clapping him on the shoulder on the way by. "If you change your mind, no questions asked."

"I know," Ron said.

--

Ginny came to play bridge with Harry and Draco. It was incredibly tense, the air thick with history they should have forgotten by now. Reflecting on the evening, though, when she and Harry were back home and getting ready for bed late that night, she reckoned it had gone pretty well. Maybe they could try it again some time. In a few years or so.

--

FIN.


End file.
